


Forever

by TheRedWulf



Series: Sansan One Shots [8]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Banter, Best Friends, F/M, Fluff, Food Truck Fiesta, Fried Cluckin Chicken, Friends to Lovers, Modern Era, Mutual Pining, No Drama Llama, Picset Challegne, Romance, Romantic Comedy, Secret Admirer, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Tropes, Valentine's Day, Witty Banter, besties
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-21
Updated: 2020-09-21
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:20:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26586517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheRedWulf/pseuds/TheRedWulf
Summary: AU - Modern - In which Sansa and Sandor are best friends, but they each have a secret...Picset is viewableHERE
Relationships: Sandor Clegane & Sansa Stark, Sandor Clegane/Sansa Stark
Series: Sansan One Shots [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1479980
Comments: 59
Kudos: 195





	Forever

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Redbirdblackdog](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Redbirdblackdog/gifts).



> Here we go again! This new series is called the 'Picset Challenge'! What does that mean? It means that I will be taking reader-made picset submissions through my discord, [The Wulf Pack](https://discord.gg/bsRauMj/), and write a short blurb/one shot for reach one. It can be any pairing that I normally write, and any era, trope, etc. I really wanted to challenge my brain to see something unique and surprising in each set, and so far it's been a blast!
> 
> The stunning modern picset is from "[RedBirdBlackDog](https://redbirdblackdog.tumblr.com/)"!  
> Pairing: Open; I chose SanSan  
> Universe: Modern  
> Trope: Open; I chose Friends to Lovers  
> Rated: T for language
> 
> I hope you enjoy it! Not a writer, not beta'd, the usual yadda, yadda, yadda...

**_February 12th_ **

“Ughhhh, Sandor!!” the exaggerated groan had Sandor turning away from his work with a smile just in time to see the face he adored most as it came around the corner of his work station. 

“Well, well, well” he chuckled as she leaned dramatically against the door jam. “Look what just flew in.” 

“Are you terribly busy?” she fixed him that smile--that fucking _smile_ that would unman the strongest of the male species. 

For him it had always been a weakness, right from the first time they’d met at Blackwater Pub nearly a year ago. The Little Bird had been struggling to carry four pints of beer when a blond haired little cunt tried to hassle her for her number. Sandor had never been one to suffer fools--or cunts, and he had stepped in to help her. He’d always been an intimidating man and that fact combined with a wide variety of tattoos and a bit of scarring thanks to his last tour of duty, the blonde scampered away quickly. 

He’d turned away to return to his quiet stool in the corner, but imagine his surprise when the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen introduced herself without staring at his scars and asked him to join her and her group. She had even gone so far as to offer him the spare beer she’d been carrying.

He’d have been a fool to refuse. 

Turns out her ‘group’ had consisted of her younger sister Arya, a mouthy little shit with a knack for darts, and Arya’s boyfriend Gendry, who seemed as calm as Arya was wild. They were surprisingly pleasant, and as the night had progressed he found himself drawn closer and closer to Sansa. Like a moth to a flame, he couldn’t look away and soon they were engrossed in conversation about the most shocking thing possible--him. 

Once she’d finished explaining that she worked at a bridal boutique downtown designing delicate dresses for wealthy brides, about the fact that she’d broken up with her boyfriend yesterday--on Valentine’s Day no less, he found himself spilling his guts to her. He couldn’t stop the words once they’d started and he told her about everything from his time in the military to his work at ‘Snarling Hound Tattoo’ with his goofy-ass older brother, Gregor. He told her things he’d never told anyone--all on the first night and by the time that last call was announced, he was ready to throw himself at her feet.

But she’d recently been dumped she’d said, and doubt trickled into his mind. The man she’d dated was surely young and handsome, a far cry from himself. Granted, 35 wasn't old by any means, but his life had been far from easy and he felt much older than that. Besides, what would a beautiful young thing like her want with a scarred old dog like him, he mentally berated himself. So when she asked if she would see him again, he hesitated. It wasn’t a long moment of doubt, but it was long enough that she’d turned away with only a promise of ‘same time next week’. 

Of course he’d been there. He wasn’t a fool. 

And so, almost a year later here they were. 

Best friends.

Best. Fucking. Friends. 

Best. Mother. Fucking. _Friends_. The nail in any sane fucking man’s coffin. 

Still, he shouldn't complain, not really. He saw her 6 days a week, if not every day and he had recently realized that he was actually _happy_ with his life. Go figure. 

“Not terribly busy” he crossed his arms, staring up at her from his chair. Today she wore dark jeans and her now-signature grey peacoat, a yellow scarf tucked around her neck to ward off the chill. Her purse, probably something designer, was a sleek leather bag hanging over her forearm. Before Sansa Stark he had never met a woman so elegant--so put together at all times. She was as pretty as a little bird from the Summer Isles and just as delicate. 

“Can I kidnap you?” she asked.

“I don’t think you could wrestle me into the trunk of a car, Little Bird” he chuckled. 

“You’re a lug” she rolled her eyes. “Come on, I am stealing you. No arguments.” 

“Fine, let me clean up” he motioned to the series of drawings he had spread out over his work bench. 

“Great! I’ll wait with Gregor” she beamed, turning in a whirl of fiery hair and making her way back to the foyer. 

Sandor tucked the art away, returned the pens and pencils to their holders and switched off the light. He’d have to come in early tomorrow to catch up but he would rather spend the afternoon with Sansa than scribbling away. 

When he reached the front he found her chirping at Gregor, telling some animated story about last week at Blackwater Pub, and of course Gregor was listening intently in nodding in all the right places. Clegane men weren’t a stupid lot by any stretch of the word. 

“There you are, ready?” she smiled when she spotted him as he pulled on his worn leather jacket. 

“Yup” he nodded to his brother whose grey eyes were bright with amusement. 

“See you tomorrow, Pup” Gregor chuckled, shaking his head as Sansa took Sandor’s hand and pulled him from the building. It was the cold winter air that had him coming to his senses, realizing that he had no idea where they were going, though he had his suspicions.

“Where are you kidnapping me to, eh?” 

“Food Truck Fiesta!” she replied, bouncing on her feet. 

“Careful or you’ll slip like the last time you were those damned death trap boots in the rain” he spared a glance for her heeled leather boots, definitely not ones he’d recommend for the rainy days in Lannisport. 

“I can’t believe you even remember that” she laughed, reaching out to press the button for the crosswalk. 

“Aye, I do” he mused. “You fell flat on your arse and promptly burst into tears.” 

“Thank you for reminding me, you’re _such_ a gentleman” she snarked. “I wasn’t exactly sober then, you know?”

“Oh, I know. Got me to carry you home though, didn’t you?” he added. 

“True” she wrapped her arm around his, locking their elbows together as they crossed the street. “I really hope that the dessert truck is there this time.” ‘Food Truck Fiesta’ is what Sansa had lovingly named the long row of diverse food trucks that parked on First Street around lunch hour every weekday. Office workers and whatnot would escape their stuffy cubicles to enjoy everything from Thai food to tacos, or even an ice cream sundae if they so choose. It was a hidden gem, and one that she enjoyed spiriting him away to whenever she could get away from the boutique. 

“As long as the fried chicken truck is there, the rest can fuck off” he replied dryly, ignoring her loud bout of laughter. It always amazed him how easily she took his gruff--alright, rude attitude. She was the only one that would laugh it off and stay smiling at his side…

“It’s here!” she jumped as they rounded the corner, balancing herself on his elbow as the ‘Sweet Tooth’ truck came into view. Really it was hard to miss, it was bright fucking pink. And as fate would have it, parked behind it was the red and white ‘Fried Cluckin’ Chicken’ truck--bingo. 

“Perfect” he replied. 

“You buy me chicken, I’ll buy you lemon cake?” she beamed. 

“Deal” he agreed and they parted ways, moving to their respective lines but he always kept half and eye on Sansa, to make sure she was safe. 

“Hey, mister! Where did your girlfriend get her coat?” a soft voice came behind him and Sandor turned around to see a small blonde girl looking up at him expectantly. 

“Err” he looked back to Sansa, trying to force his brain into gear. “It came from that boutique on the corner of Market and Ninth” he replied, only knowing the detail because he had been the one to get it for her. He'd guessed on the size, but she had gushed over it the moment she opened and had had worn it every opportunity since. 

“Awesome, thanks!” the girl returned to her texting or whatever it was she was doing, and he turned back towards the chicken truck, his heart racing. It wasn’t the first time someone had mistaken them for a couple and it wouldn’t be the last, he was certain. But every time it occurred it would threaten to rip the heart from his chest. 

Why? Oh, nothing major other than he would give his left nut to make that dream a reality. Sure it sounded extreme, but Sansa…. 

“Look!” her voice sounded at his side, jolting him from his thoughts. 

“Fuck!” he jumped in surprise, eyes dropping to where she held up a large plate with two slices of lemon cake and a second plate covered with a pile of bite-size waffles and maple syrup. 

“Waffles! Chicken and waffles” she beamed and he quickly memorized the vibrant smile on her face. 

“Perfect” he swallowed roughly. _You’re bloody perfect_ he mentally added.

“I’ll find us a space on the planter!” she scurried away, leaving him to place his chicken order and get his libido under control. 

Sansa found a nice clear and dry spot on the tall cement planters outside one of the many tech companies downtown and quickly claimed it for their use. She set her plates down and her puse beside them, before letting her eyes make their way back to Sandor’s large form. 

In all her life, she never could have anticipated Sandor Clegane. 

Born in the image of her Riverlander mother, Sansa had a strict upbringing and even more rigid expectations placed upon her. She learned ballet, she learned to paint and embroider, she had even been a Junior Debutant at one point--and she’d been absolutely miserable. Not by the embroidery and ballet so much as just….well, really the company was dull. She would have rather spent more time with Arya than the other society daughters and it had taken a lot of convincing to get Catelyn to loosen her iron grip and allow it. 

As soon as they were old enough, Sansa and Arya left the North together, Sansa with a scholarship to Lannisport College of Design and Arya with the easy free spirit of someone who had just graduated high school. Time moved on and they settled into the West with ease. Arya met Gendry at some rock concert that Sansa forgot the name of and Sansa met Harry in school. Golden and charming, she thought he was lovely. 

At first. 

And then….ugh, she couldn’t understand what she had been thinking. Two months was more than she should have ever given him, she would always regret that. He was about as deep as a puddle and even more dull than the Junior Debutantes! She had been thoroughly relieved when she caught him dining with another woman on Valentine’s Day, a night he’d claimed he had to work. 

Cool story, bro. Peace out.

Arya had immediately stepped in with a plan--drink and play darts! Alright, to be fair that was always Arya’s plan, but this time Sansa actually went along. She’d put on her most casual jeans and boots, pulling a cashmere sweater over the top to polish it off, and to the bar they went! 

It was loud, raucous, and smokey, so much different than any place she would have chosen. She had been uncertain of the ambiance and crowd--and then she saw him. Her first thought was that he was huge--truly larger than any Northman she’d ever seen, and he was just...oh, he was lovely. Dark hair cut and styled neatly, well-kept beard, sharp eyes, and shoulders as wide as a Volvo. She’d never admit it, but she had immediately compared him to one of the tattooed bad boys on the covers of romance novels she may or may not have purchased on occasion at the grocery store. 

She had covertly watched him for most of the evening. He was alone, or seemed to be, and any time someone approached him he snarled at them like a rabid dog. He had a few scars, she noticed, but nothing too extreme--not that it mattered. Afterall, she grew up in the North where the deep frosts had left more than a few unlucky people without limbs, fingers or toes. 

Still, he was a divine specimen, more masculine than any man she’d ever seen. She wasn’t brave enough to approach him herself, surely a man that rugged would dismiss a ‘straight laced girl’ like her straight away anyway, but when Arya sent her to order another round of beers, Sansa couldn’t resist walking by him on her return trip. 

She just wanted to get a closer look--for science. She wanted to know what the twisting tattoo on his forearm was--it was a viper by the way, and she wanted to know what color his eyes were--grey, by the way. She just needed details, she hadn’t intended to put herself in the path of yet another entitled blond yuppie. Especially not one who couldn’t take 'no' for an answer. She had tried to step away, had said ‘no’ politely and impolitely and then to her great surprise, ‘Mr. Snarly’ himself came to her rescue, towering over all around him as he used sheer intimidation to end the altercation. 

In the wake of waning adrenaline, bravery had bubbled up inside of her and thus commenced the verbal-vomit that had her insisting he join them--she even went as far to offer him the extra beer Arya had requested. He had stared at her in disbelief and skepticism for several seconds before he grumbled a quiet ‘sure’. 

Sansa had pointedly avoided making eye contact with Arya upon their arrival, and would later receive the lecture (and teasing) of the century for it, but Sansa refused to regret it. She couldn’t regret it, because her moment of bravery had brought her into the path of Sandor Clegane. 

Gruff. Rude. Protective. Gentle. Lovely, Sandor Clegane. 

She had thought that they’d had a connection beyond friendship, something deeper, but at the end of the night when she’d asked to see him again his face had twisted and the long pause told her that clearly she had horribly misread his signals. So she’d quickly backtracked to a ‘same time next week?’ as they parted ways.

And the rest, as they say, is history.

She watched him with a smile as he carried a plate of chicken to her perch, a stack of napkins in his spare hand. Though he was nearly a foot larger than her above-average height, he moved with the smooth grace of an apex predator--something his clumsy elder brother hadn’t managed yet. 

“Gods, did you buy them out?” Sansa laughed at the stack of chicken on the plate he set beside the waffles. 

“Probably. We’ll know if the others riot” he took her jest in stride, lowering his large frame to the cement. He plucked one of the small waffles from the plate with strong, tattooed fingers and dropped it into his mouth, his slate grey eyes scanning the crowd as always. The waffles had been an impulse buy when she saw they were a special this week, knowing how much Sandor loved chicken and waffles. 

She delicately grabbed one of the chicken pieces, nibbling on it as she kicked her feet where they dangled. They ate in companionable silence for several moments before she noticed he was looking at her with an odd expression, as if he could see through her. 

“What?” she prompted, wiping her fingers with a napkin from the stack. 

“What happened?” he asked without preamble, her feet growing still until they hung loosely beneath her. 

“How’d you know? You always know!” 

“I know you, Sansa” he replied, taking another waffle. “Your excessive chirping sometimes gives you away, but I can always tell by your eyes.” 

“I got dismissed,” she said softly, looking at the chicken bone in her fingers. “Olenna Tyrell came in to cancel her order because the wedding was called off, and when she was given the invoice, she told Mrs. Mordane that I had clearly lied about the cost of materials I used for her awful granddaughter’s dress to embezzle the funds. No one goes against a Tyrell, so they just fired me on the spot” she sniffed back the tears that came with saying the news aloud for the first time. 

“You spent hours of your own time beading that buggering ass-ugly dress” his eyes were hard, voice rough and she could tell he was angry. 

“I know,” she sighed. “What am I going to do?” 

“You tell that dusty old Mordane cunt to fuck off, that’s what you do” Sandor shook his head. “They’ve overworked you as long as I’ve known you, Little Bird. You can do better.” 

“Really?” 

“Fuck yes, really” he grabbed a piece of chicken. “Then sue for wrongful termination” he said flippantly, tearing into his chicken. 

“I couldn’t possibly!”

“You could possibly” he countered with a mouthful and she extended him the napkin she’d used so he could clean up. 

“No, I couldn’t, you know me well enough to know that I’m not litigious” she heaved a great sigh, already feeling better that she had gotten the horrible events of the day off of her chest. More often than not, that was the case when it came to being in Sandor’s company. Good or bad, if something happened she had to tell him first, and once she did she felt infinitely better. Gregor had grown used to her bursting into the shop at any moment, simply informing her if Sandor was with a client or not as she breezed by--it wouldn’t do to sneak up on a tattoo artist, afterall. 

“At some point, Little Bird, you’re going to have to stand up for yourself” he encouraged softly, setting a bare chicken bone aside. 

“I know” she agreed softly. “It’s just...I’ve been miserable there, you know?”

“I know” he agreed, his voice warmer now. “But you deserve better. You’re too talented to sit around and embroider lilies for trophy brides anyway” he was silent for several moments and then continued. “What about doing your own thing? You talk about any time you get more than a glass of wine in your system” his expression was serious but amused. 

“I could--” 

“You should” he corrected, eating another waffle. 

“Yeah, yeah" she sighed. "You know what the worst part is?”

“Changing the subject but I’ll bite,” he said between bites of chicken. “What?”

“Last year I found out my boyfriend was cheating on me on Valentine’s Day,” she explained. “And this year I’ve been fired two days before it!” 

“First off, Harry is a cunt and you’re better off--” 

“I know that, obviously.”

“Second, Mordane is a cunt and you’re better off” he added, making her laugh. 

“Well” she took a forkful of lemon cake, pausing as she lifted it to her lips. “Are you busy friday?” she asked and watched in terror as his entire body seemed to freeze. 

“You mean am I busy on Valentine’s Day, Little Bird?” 

“Well, yeah” she forced her shoulders into a half-hearted shrug. “We could do something” his face twisted into an expression she had never seen before and panic set in. “As friends, of course--I’m sorry, I didn’t think. You could have plans for all I know” she finished as he boisterous laughter echoed around them. 

“Plans” he shook his head, still laughing. “No, no plans” he said and she felt her stomach ease. 

“Good,” she returned to her lemon cake, losing herself and her worries in the tart confection. 

“Good” she thought she heard Sandor mumble, but it could have been just him enjoying his chicken. 

They returned to and finished their meals, Sansa leaning over at one point to brush powdered sugar from Sandor’s short beard as she often did. Sandor would indulge her, shoving his jaw at an odd angle to make her laugh while she worked to set him right. When they were done, they tossed their garbage into the appropriate receptacles and headed back down the street. 

“Where now, Little Bird?” 

“The Bronx is up,” she grabbed his arm, lifting it to wrap it over her shoulders. “The Battery is down--” 

“Spare me from your buggering musicals” he rolled his eyes with no real annoyance, his heavily muscle arm holding her tight to his side. Her height was just enough that she fit snugly into his armpit. 

“Fine” she sighed. “The park it is.” 

"The park it is" he echoed.

**_February 14th, Valentine’s Day_ **

“Proud of you, Pup” Gregor pushed the yellow gift bag across the counter, closer to where Sandor stood.

“Why? I’m a fucking coward.” 

“Well, aside from that” Gregor stepped back, sinking into his familiar perch behind his drawing table at the shop. “You’re finally going to do _something_ about it.” 

“Something” Sandor scoffed. “Not enough. She deserves more.” 

“Then do more!” 

“It isn’t that easy, fuck face” Sandor absently reached up to touch the burn scarring at his temple and the one that bisected his left brow. It had taken him a long time--and a lot of medical appointments, to come to terms that he’d be scarred for life. 

“That girl doesn’t give two shits about your scars, Pup” Gregor pulled him from his thoughts. “She flutters through that door so often I should have sent _her_ the damned bill when we had to replace the hydraulic hinges last month.” 

“Bullshit” Sandor turned away but Gregor only raised his hand and pointed at the antique gilded frame on the wall that now held one of Sandor’s most recent paintings. Sansa had found him the empty frame at a second-hand shop and immediately purchased it for the intricately carved hounds at each corner. She carried the cumbersome piece in with great struggle and when he’d protested, saying it wasn’t a holiday and the frame was too expensive, she’d merely said ‘Happy Tuesday!’ and placed it in his hands with a smile.

“Eh?” Gregor, sensing Sandor still wasn’t convinced, pointed over his right shoulder to the photograph from the shop’s five-year anniversary party a few months ago. 

Sandor knew full well what the photograph held, a cropped version having been his phone’s wallpaper since that fateful day. Of all of the people gathered in front of the shop to celebrate, Sandor only cared about the slender redhead tucked under his right arm at the left edge of the crowd. They stood a bit away from the rest, Sansa’s arms around his waist and his arm at her back, both of them smiling in their own little world. 

“Fuck off” Sandor tossed at his brother, who was unphased. As much as he wanted to believe that Sansa felt more for him than friendship, the idea of losing her friendship forever if she didn’t, was paralyzing. 

“I’m telling you, it's time to man up,” Gregor shrugged. “But hey, what do I know?” 

“Jack-shit fuck-all, that’s what” Sandor picked up the pale yellow gift bag, mindful of its contents. He’d had the gift inside hidden at his sparse apartment for months because he’d been too chicken shit to give them to her at Christmas.

“She’s going to know it's from you anyway, Pup. You should just give it to her in person and then drag her somewhere for the entire weekend so you can both work out the sexual tension that’s been suffocating the rest of us for a year.” 

“A year tomorrow” Sandor corrected without a thought and immediately wished he could take back the words. 

“My point exactly,” Gregor replied smugly. 

“Fuck off” Sandor repeated, running a hand over his newly trimmed hair--so he’d gotten a haircut, so what? With a flippant middle finger to his brother, he pushed out onto the street, making his way towards Sansa’s apartment. She wasn’t expecting him until this evening, which was why he was using his ‘lunch break’ to deliver a secret gift to her door mat. 

He’d seen the sadness in her bright blue eyes when she talked about Valentine’s Day--he didn't see much point in the holiday himself, but for someone as whimsical and romantic as Sansa, he knew it was important. Which was why he decided that he would try to make it better, even in some small way. Secret admirer....buggering hells. It was stupid. It was impulsive. It was...buggering hells, he just wanted to make her smile that damned smile.

Would she know it was him? Did he want her to? He just...fuck. He was a damned mess is what he was.

His long legs made quick work of the distance and by the time he reached her building, his palms were sweaty and breathing near-panicked. He covertly waited out front until someone came out, then slipped into the stairwell and moved as quietly as he could to her apartment on the third floor. 

“Please don’t let her be home, please don’t let her be home” he muttered, creeping closer until he could lower the bag to the ‘welcome’ mat in front of her door. When his hand was free of the bag, he exhaled and stepped back. It was done--Shit! Footsteps sounded like they were moving closer and Sandor turned tail and booked it, darting for the stairs like a scared dog. He'd made it to the second floor landing before the door opened.

“Thanks for the braids, you're the best! And have fun with Gendry tonight!” Sansa said as she walked Arya to the door. The two sisters had shared a Valentine’s brunch and were now parting ways to prepare for their respective evenings. 

“Will do” Arya nodded. “Who knows, maybe you will finally give in and climb Sandor like a fucking tree--” 

“It’s not like that, Arya” Sansa frowned. 

“It is though, you two are just stupid” she replied. Gods love Arya and her blunt tongue. "Even Gendry says so and he never says anything bad about anyone."

“Sandor is my best friend--” 

“Oh, thanks” Arya scoffed. “What the hell am I, then? Chopped liver?”

“He is, and I can’t lose that,” Sansa continued. “I can’t lose him.” 

“He could be your best friend and your whatever else, people can have more than one 'title', you know” Arya waved her hand before settling it on the doorknob. “Just...trust me, yeah?” 

“Sure, sure” Sansa lied as Arya opened the door, revealing a small yellow gift bag perched on the mat. 

“Well now” Arya smirked but Sansa couldn’t take her eyes from the mysterious gift. She crossed quickly, picking up the piece and carried it to the coffee table. The handle was still warm, so it had only just arrived, and inside was a mess of soft yellow tissue paper and an organza bag of filled with red hearts. 

Not just any hearts though, these were antique glass and crystal heart beads in all shapes and sizes! Dozens of them!

“Oh” Sansa felt tears rush to her eyes. These were so rare and so lovely, she couldn’t imagine where the person had found them. Actually, only one person could have known her admiration of them...but...

“‘You deserve nothing less than to be deeply loved forever. From, Your Secret Admirer. ’,” Arya read from the single piece of cardstock tucked into the tissue. “Look, there’s even a little heart.” 

“Let me see” her hand shook as she tore the card stock from her Sister’s hands. There it was in black ink, the confirmation that she needed--that she so desperately wanted. “I have to go,” Sansa sprang to her feet, pulling on her winter boots in flash, her grey pea coat following less than a second later. 

“San, what--?!” 

“Lock up when you go!” Sansa called to her sister as she grabbed her scarf and bolted out the door. She thundered down the stairs in a raucous cacophony that could have made Catelyn Stark faint, but she didn’t care. Didn't have time to care. The handle was warm, that meant that he’d be close and easy to spot. She had to find him.

Shoving the glass front door open so hard it bounced off the hinges, she tugged on her scarf as she looked both ways on the street, breath clouding the air all around her. 

“Come on, come on--where are you?” she whispered, bouncing frantically on the balls of her feet. She nearly started to lose hope--and then she saw it, a flash of worn black leather and dark, inky black hair in the crosswalk. A smile split her face to an almost painful level. She was running before her brain registered the movement, boots clunking, body weaving and shoving past the others on the sidewalk. “Sandor!” she called out and he paused on the opposite sidewalk, going still but not turning to face her. “Sandor wait!” she threw her arms up as if it would help her cause, wildly waving. 

Finally he did turn, facing her with an impassive expression, hands tucked into his pockets as if to shield himself. She reached the crosswalk as the light turned, her progress was halted by passing cars and her body barely stopped in time to avoid being stuck by a pickup truck. 

“Have you gone mad! You almost got hit!” he growled then, reprimanding her as he moved back to the opposite crosswalk entrance. 

“It was you” she laughed, terribly out of breath. 

“What?” he shouted over the cars passing between them.

“It was you!” she yelled again, this time loud enough to draw attention to herself and be heard over the street traffic. 

“I don’t---” 

“Your ‘R’s, Sandor!” she beamed. “They cross back on themselves every time you end a word with them! Like your signature ‘Sandor’ on your artwork or in the word ‘forever’.” 

“Fuck” he stepped back, running a hand through his hair as his shoulders fell. In that single gesture she saw everything so incredibly clear, she could have fallen over. It gave her hope--it gave her courage! “Little Bird, I can explain--” 

“I’m in love with you, Sandor Clegane,” she cupped her hands at each side of her mouth and yelled as a small hybrid sedan passed by in a blur. They’d amassed a confused crowd on both sides of the street by now, but she did her best to ignore them.

“What?” his grey eyes went as wide as saucers. 

“And I think--I am pretty sure that you love me, too,” she continued, letting her hands fall to her sides. She watched his expression of shock melt to one of singular determination, his jaw firming as he stepped off the curve into oncoming traffic. The cars slammed on their brakes and laid on their horns, but he only flipped them off as he walked by, eyes fixed only on her. 

With a glance to traffic--which was now stopped, Sansa bolted into the crosswalk as well, throwing herself into his arms the moment he was close enough. He caught her, as she knew he would, and she held tightly to his shoulders while he used her momentum to spin them around.

“Crazy Little Bird” he carried her back to the sidewalk she’d just been on. He lowered her to her feet but didn’t let her go. 

“It was you” she said lamely, holding to the sides of his leather jacket as she looked up at him. His long arms had banded around her, holding her firmly to the solid wall of his chest. 

“Aye, it was me” he whispered and she choked on a sob. “No, no tears--” 

“They’re happy tears!” she sniffled. 

“Did you mean it?” he wiped her cheek with a large thumb. 

“Of course I meant it, you stupid man” she laughed through her tears, briefly resting her forehead over his heart. “I thought...I always thought you weren’t interested--” 

“Not interested! Buggering hells, Sansa, I would have taken you home that first night if I thought for a second you’d have said yes!” he must have realized that they were being watched, because after he spoke the words he lifted his head to glare at the bystanders, all of which quickly scurried away.

“But you…” she looked up at him, his slate grey eyes a torrent of emotion. “You made this odd face when I asked to see you again…” 

“Aye, look at you and then look at me” he reasoned, looking back at her. “Opposites to say the least. Why would you want me--” 

“I watched you,” she confessed. “At the bar before we even talked.”

“I spotted you too. Like a vibrant flame in the middle of a forest, there you were.” 

“You’re my best friend, Sandor” she began. “When something happens, I run to you. Happy, sad, good or bad, I know when I tell you, everything will be better” she cupped his face. “But it's so much more than that…” 

“Little Bird” he sighed, a hand carding into her hair at the nape of her neck, mindful of the intricate braids Arya had put there earlier. Sansa had wanted to look her best for tonight and Arya was a keen hand with braids--though she would deny it, and Sansa’s waist length hair was perfect for braiding. 

“I want to fall to sleep beside you every night and wake up beside you every morning” she went on her tiptoes to bump her nose to his chin. “I want to have babies with you and take family trips to Food Truck Fiesta, and I--” her words were silenced when he lowered his lips to hers, silenced in the most blissful was as he gently parted her lips and held her tight.

Sansa sighed, sinking into his embrace as tears of happiness slid down her cheeks. She clung to his shoulders, thoroughly surrounded by him in the way that she always ached to be. His beard tickled and she was on the tip of her tiptoes to reach him, but it was worth it because she felt him in every fiber of her being. Though urgent, it was unhurried, deep and promising...it was absolutely perfect. 

“Get a room!” the yell of a passerby barely registered in her mind but Sandor must have heard it too because he pulled back, though reluctantly, lips lingering on hers for a moment before he fixed her with the most heart-stopping smile she’d ever seen. 

“I love you too, Little Bird” he whispered before scooping her into his arms. She laughed in surprise but held to his neck and shoulders, smiling widely and burrowing her face into his bearded cheek.

He carried her bridal-style back towards her apartment, ignoring the strange looks they were receiving. Timing was in their favor and an elderly women was exiting the building, allowing them to slip inside. He easily climbed the steps and crossed to her door where Arya was standing, mouth agape.

“Finally!” Arya screamed, bouncing wildly. She shoved the door open for them, mischief in her eyes as they ducked inside. “I told you! I KNEW IT!” 

“Fuck off, Runt” Sandor laughed, kicking the door shut behind him and leaving Arya in the hall. 

“I’m telling Gendry! You can’t stop me!” Arya yelled back from the hall, but Sandor didn’t mind. Instead he carried Sansa straight to her bedroom, muttering something about making up for lost time. 

Sansa certainly wasn’t protesting. Or complaining. 

**_Epilogue_ **

“We could leave her with my brother?” Sandor suggested, smiling at the grimace that crossed his wife’s features. He knew that would amuse her at the very least. 

“Last time we left her with Gregor, he took her shopping at the mall just so he could pick-up women with the ‘doting uncle act’,” she replied, handing him the bottle she’d prepared for their protesting daughter.

“True” Sandor chuckled, adjusting the tiny bundle in his arms. “Gregor knows that you women can’t resist a big man with a tiny baby” he added and Sansa snorted in sarcastic retort. It was late spring in Lannisport, which meant the days were growing warmer and it was an ideal time for family lunches at the Food Truck Fiesta. He watched his daughter protest at being jostled but she quickly settled and focused on the bottle Sandor was now holding at just the _right_ angle. 

Today Sansa had kidnapped him from the shop at lunch time, taking a break from her own jam-packed schedule of custom dresses to steal him away. As he had suspected, her losing her job at Mordane’s was the best thing that could happen for her professional career. She was able to make more money and manage her own time by starting her own business, ‘Little Bird’s Boutique’. She was successful enough that she could be selective with her clients and manage her agenda in a way that allowed her to care for their daughter as well. 

Once their feelings were out in the open--and they’d emerged from their impromptu Valentine’s weekend sated and exhausted, they’d wasted no time in moving forward. None of their friends or family were surprised at the change in status, and really nothing fundamentally changed beyond Sandor’s things moving three blocks west into Sansa’s apartment. She still fluttered into the shop as she pleased, much to Gregor’s amusement, and he would occasionally sneak little gifts onto their door mat for her to find. All of them in pale yellow bags.

Sansa was still his best friend, but now he could kiss her whenever he liked. Instead of just movie nights, they could spend their nights alone lazing about and making love--or going at it like wild animals when the feeling struck. She was still the brightest part of his days and his favorite lunch companion. But each and every night he left the shop and went home to her--and now to both of his girls. 

A year and a half ago she had become his wife in addition to being his best friend. They'd exchanged vows in the park they frequented on their walks, beneath the shade of an ancient tree Sansa Stark became Sansa Clegane. She’d made herself an elegant pale grey dress that made her glow with happiness, those sparkling heart gems sewn into intricate embroidery at her waist and in her hair. He had never seen a sight as beautiful as she was walking towards him on her Father's arm. And he had never loved her more. 

Not until a few months ago when she’d become a mother with the arrival of their daughter, Catya. He marvelled at every change, every curve, and every weird fucking craving that came along with her pregnancy, knowing that her body was working hard to create something from the best parts of them both. He'd been terrified as she screamed and sobbed, fighting to bring their daughter into the world. He could only stand by and offer a pittance of strength in her battle. His Little Bird was a warrior, a damned warrior, and when Catya's cries filled the air, Sansa sagged against his side, laughing in exhausted relief.

A father, he was a damned _father_. 

“It’s our anniversary, we can share it with our daughter” Sansa reasoned. “She’ll be asleep early anyway--ideally. She seems to sleep through the night now.” 

“Aye, but I was looking forward to making you scream Little Bird. I always do like it when you're loud,” he smirked, watching the flush spread across her cheeks. He still loved that he could make her blush after all they’d experienced together. 

“I can, um” she cleared her throat. “I can call Mom?” 

“Oh, let me call her” Sandor said mischievously. It was no secret that Catelyn had been wary of Sandor right up until the moment they’d presented her with a granddaughter. From Catya’s birth onward, Catelyn couldn’t stop singing the praises of how much Catya’s dark Clegane hair complimented her bright Tully eyes.

“I am sure she’ll love that” Sansa pushed to her feet and blew him a kiss. “I am going to grab dessert and some more napkins, I will be right back.” 

Sandor watched her go, admiring the way her hips swayed in her faded jeans. While Sansa would lament the changes motherhood had brought to her slender figure, Sandor loved to admire them at every angle. He was a lucky bastard, he knew that better than any. A wife he loved more than anything, a beautiful baby bird that he would die for in an instant, and a best friend he could smile with every morning. 

It didn’t get any better than that.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! 
> 
> If you're on discord, feel free to come and join the new [Wulf Pack](https://discord.gg/bsRauMj/)! I have had phenom help and support getting this server going, and I can't wait to talk with you there! There might even be exciting new challenges and stories on the horizon!


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